I was reading some NMEs from 1996 for my dissertation, and I came across a story saying that Cast had sued Sky One Teletext for announcing their London tourdate, then captioning it "expect local crime rates to go up significantly"! Not very rock and roll, I thought it was funny though...

It was pretty fun, I went to the Newspaper Library at Colindale, they've got everything! I was looking for examples of jokes being made about Birmingham bands to back up my theory that bands from Birmingham have a hard time getting famous because of the way people view the city (for my Cultural Studies degree). I found lots of examples!

It was pretty interesting actually, and fun to do while my friends were all writing dissertations on Physics etc! I argued that it's two connected things: firstly it's to do with 'regionalist discourses' i.e. people say Birmingham is shit so many times that everyone believes it, and then no-one thinks anything good can come from there. Secondly, because bands from here have been so derided by the media in the past (Ocean Colour Scene etc) and are so tied to the city, this also leads people to believe that no-one from here can be any good. Because Birmingham is seen as a shit place, the city becomes 'responsible' for the shit bands. This doesn't seem happen as much with shit bands from other places.

When Motorhead last played Rock City, the soundcheck took ages.... why? cos Lemmy kept complaining it was too loud!!

Some people I know were asked to look after Ed Harcourt before a gig, keep him company, get him drinks etc. They were told "He's really down to earth, great guy"... When they met him, he opened the conversation with "Have you got any coke?" when they said no, he left.

Ozzy hardly spent a night on his tour bus: he was always on ours. He'd burst through the door with a baggie full of coke, singing, 'I am the krelley man, doing all the krell that I can, I can,' and we'd snort up the krell all night long, until the bus stopped and we were in the next city.

In one case, that city happened to be Lakeland, Florida. We rolled out of the bus and went straight to the bar, which was separated from the swimming pool deck by a glass window. Ozzy pulled off his pants and stuck a dollar bill in his ass crack, then walked into the bar, offering the dollar to each couple inside. When an elderly lady began to cuss him out, Ozzy grabbed her bag and took off running. He came back to the pool wearing nothing but a little day dress he had found in the bag. We were cracking up, though we weren't sure whether his antics were evidence of a wicked sense of humour or a severe case of schizophrenia.

We were hanging out, us in T-shirts and leather, Ozzy in the dress, when all of a sudden Ozzy nudged me. 'Hey, mate, I fancy a bump.'

'Dude,' I told him, 'we're out of blow. Maybe I can send the bus driver out for some.'

'Give me the straw,' he said, unfazed.

'But, dude, there's no blow.'

'Give me the straw. I'm having a bump.'

I handed him the straw, and he walked over to a crack in the sidewalk and bent over it. I saw a long column of ants, marching to a little sand dugout built where the pavement met the dirt. And as I thought, 'No, he wouldn't,' he did. He sent the entire line of ants tickling up his nose with a single, monstrous snort. Then he hiked up the sundress, grabbed his dick, and pissed on the pavement. Without even looking at his growing audience - everyone on the tour was watching him while the old women and families on the pool deck were pretending not to - he knelt down and, getting the dress soggy in the puddle, lapped it up. He didn't just flick it with his tongue, he took a half-dozen long, lingering, and thorough strokes like a cat. Then he stood up and, eyes blazing and mouth wet with urine, looked straight at me. 'Do that, Sixx'.

I swallowed and sweated. But this was peer pressure that I could not refuse. After all he had done so much for Mötley Crüe. And, if we wanted to maintain our reputation as rock's most cretinous band, I couldn't back down, not with everyone watching. I unzipped my pants and whipped out my dick in full view of everybody in the bar and around the pool. 'I don't give a fuck,' I thought to steady myself as I made my puddle. 'I'll lick up my piss. Who cares?'

But, as I bent down to finish what I had begun, Ozzy swooped in and beat me to it. There he was, on all fours at my feet, licking up my pee. I threw up my hands: 'You win.'

Bonzo was near the bar at this party when he was approached by Andy McConnell,a short,neatly dressed reporter for British music paper sounds.John Bonham was one of the writer's musical heroes,and at the party had finally screwed up his courage and approached Bonzo:"Mr Bonham,my name is Andy McConnell and i represent sounds and i would just like to tell you that i think you're the greatest drummer in the world,and that i've always wanted to shake your hand."
Bonzo turned and jerked the reporter by his lapels,so that his eyes were level with Bonzo's,and screamed into the poor man's face,"i've taken enough shit from you cunts in the press!!!"Others jumped in to intervene,and a crazed Bonzo had to be pried off the journalist.
Late that night back at the Riot House,Danny Goldberg was awakened at four in the morning by a loud,steady,rythmic pounding on his door.At first he thought the place was on fire until he realized that Bonzo had gotten hold of his room number and was trying to batter down the door. "I know you're in there,and i want you to call that fucking little geezer from Sounds.Tell him I wanna do another fucking interview! Hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah!!! I'll give that horrible fucker an interview he'll never forget.

Later he spilled his drink on a man from a British daily and forced Zeppelin's tour photographer to walk down the aisle of the starship without his clothes.

am not obsessed with it just horrified that osmeone so sanctimonious could get away with it - am more intrigued by the hat story anyway - that surely has to be the moment of the 'End of History' that Fukuyama is always wittering on about

I have loads more but they sound like I hang out on PopBitch but I can tell you about Loius Rialto trying to score gear on a cmap sit ein Polzeath or pulling a fat american girl and my mate giving them a lift back to a hotel - have i upset bamos now, again??

i remember making a thread about this that only got 5 replies...3 from me. :*(

so i'll reiterate:

Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux somehow ends up house-sitting for Ace Frehley. One of Ace's relatives needs to go to hospital. Jennifer wakes up a day later in jail not remembering a thing about the drug-driving. Gets a diamond plectrum from Ace as a thank you.

Julian Cope's 'Head On' autobiography is full of great stuff especially from his early years with teardrop explodes surrounded by Bunnymen and future KLF.

One that springs to mind involved receiving a package at a radio station in california when they first toured the states. It was a '1000 trip bag' with a card that read - "good luck, The Dead" (as in Grateful Dead)
Basically it was a big crystal of LSD.
Cope immediately thinks the best course of action is to get rid of the 12 trips he has left from the tour so far by taking them all.
By the time they get out into the desert for the drive to the next show he is out of his mind and feels ready to tackle the bag
the rest of the tour is just madness - you have to read the thing

yeah 'Head On' is quite bewildering in places, like when they were driving down the 'freeway' at top speed in the tour van and invented the 'sock game'. Which involved putting a sock over your head, climbing out of one of the van windows and clambering over the roof to get into the other side.

And didn't he spend a day sat on a table thinking he was a lion? Don't do acid, kids...

should point out for the sake of geekness, that the 'Led Zep' mud shark story, should really be called the 'vanilla fudge' mud shark story, as they were headliners on the tour, and actually took part in the sordid groupie/fish acts. Bonham watched, I believe.

Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux has lines scorched forever into the inside of her nostrils through overindulgence on the smack snorting trail.

John Bonham used to travel every where first class and make his roadie travel economy. They board a flight and a half pissed Bonzo orders two bottles of champagne. After making a valiant attempt to down them he falls asleep and pisses himself in the chair. Wakes up in a puddle, throws a strop, makes his roadie change seats and trousers with him, goes back into economy to bully every poor sod there.

Their manager, ex wrestler Peter Grant, goes into a record shop and asks if they have any Led Zep bootlegs. When some are produced he grabs the guy behind the counter by the wrist and slowly breaks it while warning him never to stock any more again.

Jimmy Page bought Alistar Crowleys old cottage on the banks of Loch Ness during his occult phase. A couple of members of the Manson Family show up unnanounced for a visit. For some reason Jimmy pretends he's not in and got rid of the house not long after.

Before they became the finished product, Black Sabbath had a saxophone player and a slide guitarist. For those of you familiar with their work, just think about that one.

A friend of a friend worked in the famous Filmore venues in America. He said Madonna wasn't very nice, insisting on an extra six inches added to the dressing room and doors barred which meant equipment had to be carried all the way round the building to get it in. There was a thing called Wishkids, I think, where terminally ill children got a wish fulfilled. One girls was to meet Madonna, who told staff to get the brat the fuck out of here.